


Sleepless

by lillyofthevally



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Angst, BUT there is a scientific basis, Biting, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Lots of Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post Season 2, Season 2 spoilers, Vampires, Werewolves, a healthy amount of porn, blood/gore, copious references to season 1, copious sniffing, erm weird suedo science wolf behavior, heh sausage puns, how does one tag this, idk why but I felt like making this fic Educational, its actually mostly fluff?, lots of hurt comfort, or an unhealthy amount, senting, so much., well theres porn, werewofly flesh eating, who knows anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillyofthevally/pseuds/lillyofthevally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Werewolves were, by their nature, solitary creatures. So was the way of the world. But even solitary animals do not always want to be alone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A week after Nadia's abduction Peter has moved back into Nicolae's house, the full moon is just a day away and Peter is wary of spending it alone, but with Lynda and Destiny away he doesn't see much choice. Luckily there's always your friendly neighborhood Upir to help you out in a pinch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The itch

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the Hemlock fandom, so please have patience. Also, sorry the first chapter is so short, if this gets enough interest I'll lengthen the chapters and start posting regularly, until then I'll leave it how it is.

Absently Peter rubbed a hand through his hair, the moon was almost full and he could feel the wolf twisting under his skin. Peter hadn’t slept in almost two days and exhaustion picked at the back of his eyelids. After Nadia’s disappearance he had moved back into the blue trailer. To tired to take the white dust cloths off the furniture Peter had left it a graveyard full of ghosts, both with the furniture and the memories the trailer held. The lights in the kitchen were mostly off, leaving the living room in a dense gloom. Peter hadn’t bothered pulling back the curtains, he hadn’t expected to stay to long.

He was looking for answers, Destiny’s and his uncle’s books strewn around him on every available surface. He had settled on the couch, arms braised on his knees, staring uselessly at the words. They had started to blur hours ago, now swimming frustratingly around the page like fish on yellowed paper. He should call Destiny, or Roman. Peter didn’t like the idea of being alone on the full moon, not with what had happened the last time he had tried to change, despite that change having been on the bad moon. Peter hadn’t spoken to Roman since they left the white tower, almost a week ago. Peter scrubbed at his face. Almost a week,  Nadia had been gone almost a week.

Peter felt hollow and full of wolf. His eyes itched, his skin itched. He was sore and drained. Peter rested his head in his hands and rubbed at his temples, itched at his beard, closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he could sleep like this but he didn’t want to go to his room, the sink was still full of his hair and his grief. He wasn’t ready to face that, or himself in the mirror above it. Peter drifted in the darkness behind his eyes, flickers of that night slipping out of his memories to imprint themselves on his eyelids.

A nock at a door had him jerking out of his trance. Peter shuffled to the door, remembering belatedly that he hadn’t showered or changed his cloths in… quite possibly a week. He winced. Peter opened the door a crack to see who was standing on the other side. Unsurprisingly it was Roman.

“You look like shit man.” Peter croaked. He hadn’t used his voice in a while, and it showed. Roman raised an eyebrow at him, dark circles pooled under his eyes and he looked even paler than usual.

“You’re one to talk Romancek.” Roman said, leaning heavily on the doorframe. From this distance Peter could smell the distinct cloying scent of formaldehyde and lilies. The smell was one Peter associated solely with death. Somehow he found that fitting.

“Are you going to let me in?” Roman asked at last and Peter realized he had been standing to long in the doorway. Peter slouched back, gesturing for Roman to follow him in.

Peter drifted over to the fridge and cabinets, reminded that he hadn’t eaten anything in… well a while. He rummaged half-heartedly through them, not really expecting to find anything edible. Roman watched him from across the room; hand in his pockets, propped against the spectral couch. Peter’s search yielded a jar of expired mayonnaise, a bag of rotting grapes, a jar of peanut shells and the half decomposed carcass of a mouse. Finally Roman said,

“Shit man, when was the last time you ate something?” he toed at an empty bottle on the ground, “or had something to drink?” the faint mocking lilt to Roman’s voice raised Peter’s hackles. Whether it was the sleeplessness, the hunger, or the hormones from the change Peter had already been on edge even before Roman arrived.

“When was the last time _you_ had something to drink Roman?” Peter snapped. He closed the cabinet he had been looking through with far more force than was necessary and the glass front fell out, dropping to shatter on the ground. Peter swore in Romani, jumping back. A shard caught his ankle, drawing up a line of ragged red.

Peter swore more violently, grabbing a dishtowel and swiping unsuccessfully at the blood. He looked quite ridiculous hopping around on one foot. Roman would have laughed at him had it not been for the blood. There was something fixating about blood, even to the normal human, something about it that catches the mind in those ruddy drops of red. For the upir it might as well have been heroine before an addict or fresh meat in front of a starving dog.

Peter stopped hopping and looked up when Roman banged out of the trailer. It took Peter a second more to get it, once he did he swore again, one last time. Peter cleaned away the remainder of the blood and threw the dishtowel in the sink. Once he was sure the blood could no longer resemble anything even remotely tempting Peter followed his friend outside.

Roman was standing against the far side of the trailer, smoke seeping from his lips. In the sunlight he looked even paler, his cheekbones hollow and eyes gaunt. He looked older, but not like he had aged at all, as though he had grown to tired to keep up his usual youthful façade and so revealed the man underneath.

“So.” Peter said, propping himself up next to Roman.

“So.” Roman said back, only slightly mocking. Peter snorted and reached for his own pack of cigarettes, only belatedly realizing he wasn’t wearing pants and so there was nowhere for those cigarettes to be kept. Roman fished his pack out and offered Peter one, which he accepted. They stood in silence for a minute, each waiting for the other to say something. There was a lot to be said, too much.

“I was at the mortuary.” Roman started, “planning the funeral.” He didn’t have to say who’s funeral it was, there was only really one that they both cared about.

“Oh good, I thought you might have developed some kind of weird coffin thing.” Peter said. The joke fell flat. Roman inhaled, his throat working around a mouthful of smoke. Peter exhaled and pretended he didn’t notice how it made Roman’s Adam’s apple jump.

“The full moon’s tomorrow.” Peter said, as casually as he could manage. Roman gave him a strange look.

“No shit. Why do you think I'm here?” Peter relaxed.

“Unless,” Roman added, and peter tensed again, “you would rather be alone.” Peter flashed a sharp smile at his friend.

“I’d rather not, plus I know you like to watch.” Roman snorted. Above them the trees whispered, the first of autumn’s leaves drifting down around them. The shadows had begun to grow long and thick around the two boys and Peter could feel the wolf under his skin getting restless again. Peter dropped his cigarette and crushed the glowing life from it with his heel.

“Your mom going? To the funeral?” he asked, without looking at Roman. He heard roman’s bitter, cut off, laugh that sounded more like the cry of a wounded animal then the cry of a happy one.

“Fuck I hope not.” he said.

“And if she does?” peter pressed. He had no idea why he was pushing Roman, maybe it was the wolf, maybe it was the cold or the hunger. Really though it was just him, it had always been just him.

“She won’t.” Roman said, sounding sure of himself. Peter had known Roman long enough to spot a lie, but whatever had driven him to push Roman was suddenly gone, so peter nodded and let it go.

“It’s getting dark, you want to come in?” Peter asked. Roman shrugged.

“In a minute.” Peter trudged up the steps, back into the house. Behind him Roman closed his eyes and filled the air with long, filmy, tendrils of smoke as night fell fully over Hemlock Grove.    


	2. dog jokes and plenty of sausage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god this chapter isn't as smutty as the chapter title makes it sound. I'm sorry for misleading you. It consists of domestic acts, dog jokes, sexual tension and the start of Peter's change.

 

When Roman came back in he found Peter on the couch, sound asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes. Peter was snoring resolutely and Roman didn’t want to wake him. Carefully he navigated around the counter and into the kitchen. Many of the cabinets still gaped open, showing off their empty innards.

Roman had been half joking before when he had asked about the last time Peter had eaten but judging from the state of the cabinets realized that it was actually a valid concern. Roman closed all the cabinets, avoiding the bloody cloth in the sink, and ended up leaning against the counter beside the hall that led into the bathroom and bedrooms.

Peter twitched in his sleep, his arm flopping off his face and leaving his hair in rumpled tufts. Roman realized he was staring and wrinkled his noes.

“damned fucking creepy.” He muttered to himself, shoving off the counter and grabbing his keys from where he had tossed them beside the impressively endowed Ganesh statue and slipped out the door. The stairs to the road creaked alarmingly as he bounded up them, the wood halfway rotted through and tottering. At the top his car lurked expectantly, beckoning decadent luxury in silver, black leather and speed.

Roman wrenched open the door nun-too-gently and climbed into the driver’s seat. For a second he just sat in the dark, listening, before jamming the keys into the ignition and wrenching the engine to life. The car snarled amiably as Roman pulled out onto the road.

At first he wasn’t wholly sure of where he was going, not until he saw the bright, offensive, neon of a 24-hour convenience store. Pulling into the lot he hit a speed bump just a little to quickly, jarring the undercarriage worryingly. Roman wrenched the keys out of the ignition as soon as the car had rattled to a stop and pulled himself out of the car.

The parking lot was slick with the memory of rain that had fallen several nights ago, the puddles reflected the neon signs back up onto Roman’s skin, casting it in a ghastly Technicolor hue. He paused at the window to the store to look inside, cupping his hands around his eyes to reduce the glare and pressing his nose to the glass. Inside a bored looking teenager picked at her nails with one hand and flipped through her phone with the other.

Roman pushed open the door with a soft chime and the girl looked up and gave him the customary once over, her lips quirking up into an appreciative smile. She put her phone down with a click on the counter to give him her undivided attention.

“well hello there handsome, what’s a nice boy like you doing out so late all by his lonesome?” she asked, giving her eyebrows an exaggerated wiggle.  Roman raised his own eyebrows at her.

“I was looking to see if you had any food actually, like eggs and bacon or sausage and shit.” The girl gave him a devilish smile.

“oh sure boy-o we got plenty of sausages.” Which is how Roman Godfrey ended up slinking out of a 24-hour convenience store at god-awful O-clock on a newly minted Sunday morning with a bag full of eggs, sausage, cereal, a Frisbee, and a big jug of sunny-D. He could still hear the girls teasing voice in the back of his head. ‘So very _domestic._ ’ she had said when she had assumed he was buying a meal for his significant other back home. He hadn’t corrected her.

The stairs creaked just as much on his way down as they had on his way up, the grocery bag slapping against his leg. Roman was careful on his way in, closing the door softly as he could and holding the bag against his chest so as not to rattle it. In the kitchen Roman was faced with finding and switching on the old stove which was harder then he had expected as some of the nobs had been broken off and the corresponding burners were hard to locate. Roman ended up almost burning his hand and almost waking Peter up by dropping the whole lot of Linda’s pans onto the stained linoleum floors. At last he got the stove on, sausage and eggs sizzling cooperatively.  Roman eyed the orange juice speculatively; lately he had been able to keep jack shit down. Not that he had even really been hungry. Not for this kind of food anyway. Romans eyes slid to the sink, more precisely the towel. He couldn’t smell the blood anymore over the smell of breakfast, but he knew it was there, that was enough. It was Peters voice that broke him out of his staring match with the sink.

“I could kiss you.” He said. Roman grimaced and poked the eggs.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Peter came to stand beside him, bracing his shoulder against Roman’s to stare into the pan.

“Fuck, that looks good.” Peter said, reaching for a sausage. Roman slapped his hand away.

“Wait.” He grumbled, rolling a sausage with a fork he had found in the soap bole, hopefully the sausage wouldn’t end up tasting like soap. Peter went to turn away but before he did he stopped and inhaled, leaned closer to Roman and inhaled again.

“The fuck man?” Roman snapped, edging away so he could get a better look at Peter, who leaned back, he looked slightly startled or stunned.

“You smell funny.” He said. Roman turned to look at him fully, eggs abandoned, one eyebrow crooked.

“Excuse me?”

“Like off. You smell off. Like funky.” Peter leaned in and inhaled again. “I don’t know, still upir but weird. Not bad.” Peter backed up to the table and hooked out a chair. “Just off.” He shrugged.

“Alright then, that not fucking weird or anything.” Roman said, looking back down at his cooking. When the food was done Roman wordlessly dropped the pans down in front of Peter with the fork, not bothering to find plates. Peter didn’t wait for Roman to sit down before he started eating. He abandoned the fork after the first few bites; shoving sausage and egg into his mouth so fast he almost choked and licking his fingers clean after each bite. When he was done Roman asked,

“Good.”

“Ya.” Peter watched Roman for a second. “Are you hungry?” Roman snorted bitterly.

“Not for anything there.”

Peter nodded and looked back down at the dishes, shuffling them into a pile for the sink. The water coughed and sputtered when he switched it on but it was there and that’s all that counted. Peter left the dishes to soak and looked outside.

“What time is it?” he asked Roman. He looked down at his watch.

“Almost ten.”

“Still early then, I'm going to take a shower.”

“Thank Christ.” Peter shoved him on his way to the bathroom.

“Fuck you man.”

“you wish Rumancek!” Roman shouted after Peters retreating back. The only response he got was Peter flipping him the bird as he ducked into the bird. Roman waited until the water rattled on in the bathroom before he slunk over to the garbage under the sink and fished out the bloody cloth. He considered it for a minute, his eyes flicking over the red stain, the dark flecks. The smell of it, copper and iron and death, invaded his nose. Roman stared at it, his stomach churning. He threw the cloth under the sink and slammed the door shut. In the bathroom the water shut off and Peter shouted;

“hey Roman, you alright? I heard something bang.”

“I'm good.” Roman shouted back, staring glassily at the closed cabinet doors. He was so fucking _hungry_. Peter came out of the shower shirtless with his hair handing in a damp curtain over his face. Roman opened his mouth but Peter leveled him a scathing glare.

“One dog joke, one. I dare you.” He sounded like he was joking, but only just. Roman grinned and opened his mouth again, before he could say anything Peters was shaking his hair, spraying Roman full in the face.

“Fucking _shit_.” Roman yelped, swiping at his face. Peter was laughing, scrubbing his wet hair back out of his face in a smooth motion.

“Don’t be such a pussy.” Peter slid past Roman to the sink to check on the dishes. He rinsed the clean and stacked them up on the drying board.

“Hey Roman, time check?”

“Ten forty five, you have time.” Roman leaned back against the counter and watched as Peter puttered around the kitchen and put away the groceries. Finally Peter turned back to him, gracing his arms on the counter to watch him.

“you still want to stay? Its fine if you don’t.” it wasn’t fine and they both new it. Roman snorted and fished a cigarette out of his pocket.

“I'm good man, I like all that freaky shit remember?” Peter snorted and nodded. They spent the rest of the day oscillating from companionable to awkward silence, with short bouts of conversation in between.  As night drew closer Peter got more and more restless, pacing faster and snapping at Roman whenever he didn’t get out of his way fast enough. Roman cooked the rest of the eggs and Peter ate the last sausages, not bothering to cook them, just scarfing them down whole. At last Peter started working the rings off his fingers, Roman was almost relieved, if he hadn’t been able to see the tremor in Peters hands.

“how freaked are you?” Roman asked. Peter twitched and shrugged, his whole body jerking. He rolled his neck, it snapped alarmingly and Roman winced. They waited as long as they could before going outside, it was bitterly cold today and neither of them liked the idea of standing out there in the chill. When at last they did go out Peter was shivering so violently that he seemed to hum, like a tuning fork that had just been struck. Roman didn’t comment on it, just leaned back against the trailer and folded his arms across his chest. Peter stood alone in the cold winter twilight, rubbing at his arms to warm them and shifting from one foot to the other. When the first snap of his back rang out Peter made a sharply wounded sound. Roman took an involuntary step forward, to catch Peter or steady him he wasn’t sure. Peter hissed through his teeth, a low whine chasing after. It was a singularly pitiful sound.

“Roman, you’ll stay right? You know in case…” Peter waved a hand, indicating the wolf that dwelt below his skin. Roman nodded.

“yes of course I’ll stay, don’t worry.” He said. Peter grimaced as another convulsion shuddered through him. The change came faster now, until, at last, Peter dropped to his knees. For a second he met Romans eyes. There was fear there, dark and depthless, and pain, sharp and ragged. Roman didn’t know what Peter saw there but whatever it was the reaction to it was hidden by Peter’s hair as he dropped his head and his back arched. With a sickening squelch Peter’s eyes hit the forest floor and the thick, rich, copper tang of blood filled the air.       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates! Busy, busy, busy. Anyway I'm updating the first half of this chapter now, the rest later tonight. Have a good one my friends!
> 
> Comments and kudos keep me alive, I'm working on my second novel right now so often I may forget about this fic. Don't be shy about reminding me, or if you just want to talk head cannons I'm down.
> 
> (also if any of you want my tumblr its Finnicky-art.tumblr.com , its not an exclusively hemlock grove blog but I'd be lying I said that wasn't a large part)
> 
> ((EDIT second half of chapter two is up! Sorry for the lateness, I had a bit of a health scare and couldn't write for a few days. Also I work as an author so I have a lot of other works that try and seduce me away from this, but no abandoning I promise!))


	3. Heartbeat houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight bending of the wolf symbology in the books, so if you are opposed to that I'm so sorry. Anyway, have some cute cuddles in this one. (theres a little gore in this one so if thats an issue with it proceed with caution)

 

Romans stomach flipped sickeningly, the hunger roiling wildly. The _smell_ of Peter’s flesh, steaming and dark, distracted him from the end of Peter’s change. When at last he wrenched his eyes away from the mound of flesh Peter was standing as a wolf, legs splayed and trembling. It reminded Roman, contradictorily, of pictures of young fawns trying to stand for the first time. Peter was watching him with his new-minted amber eyes and Roman shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, eyes darting between the flesh and the wolf.

Roman knew that Peter always ate his old skin, so that he didn’t go out for his run on an empty stomach. But that didn’t stop Roman’s stomach from _aching._ On the next pass his eyes met Peter’s and he saw the flash of realization there.

Roman braced for the disgust, the rejection but Peter only blinked and crouched to seize a mouthful of muscle and fat and blood. He dragged it a few steps away and turned his back to Roman with a grunt. There was still a sizable amount of meat left and Roman stared stupidly at it. When Roman didn’t move towards it Peter paused to chuff at him before turning back to his meal.

Roman got the message. He knelt down in the leaf litter beside the flesh. Hesitantly he reached out and grabbed a handful of it. It felt warm and pulpy and so recently alive it should have sickened him, instead his stomach only clenched tighter. Roman brought the flesh to his mouth, feeling the blood trace his lip and drip off his chin. He opened his mouth and licked it. the taste made him groan, it was sweet and sharp and filthy. Roman had the whole chunk in his mouth before he realized what he was doing, thick, chunky strings running down his lips and neck and chin. Behind him Peter had finished off the last of his own change’s refuse. He waited until Roman was finished before padding over.

Roman’s eyes were closed, dark lashes skimming his cheeks, he kept licking his lips trying to get every last bit of blood into his mouth. Peter watched him with an odd bit of morbid fascination. Roman caught him and grinned, flashing his perfect white teeth, now tainted red. Peter snorted and stepped closer, stopping only when he was noes to noes with Roman.

Peter stuck out his pink tongue and licked Roman from chin to forehead. Roman broke away laughing and wiping wolf slobber off his face.

“you fucking asshole.” He said, shoving Peter with his shoulder and sliding gracefully to his feet. Peter snorted and shifted anxiously, eyes flicking from the woods to Roman and back.

“are you going to go off and do your wolfie thing fido?” Roman asked. Peter grunted and back a few steps towards the tree line a few paces before turning and loping away into the twilight. Roman watched him go, jamming his hands into his pockets as at last the night chill crept under his coat.

“well I guess that’s that.” Roman turned and headed back into the house. With out Peter it felt eerily quite, so Roman banged around a little. But one can only be needlessly noisy for so long and at last Roman was driven to sprawl out on the couches. Above him on the roof it began to rain, the sudden deluge producing a comforting white noise that filled the space.

Roman drifted, not really asleep or awake either, stepping along the knife edge of sleep and wakefulness where dreams hold one hand and reality the other. In this half dream Roman saw an ouroboros twisting around a wolf’s muzzle, ever devouring its tail as it held the wolf’s jaws closed.

Some time later, Roman couldn’t have said how long, he was drawn slowly awake by a scrabbling at the door. For a moment, with the dreams hooks still stuck in his heart, it sounded like a monster. Roman eased up off the couch and padded barefoot over to the door. The rain hadn’t stopped, if anything it had gotten worse. When Roman opened the door rain came slanting in, stinging the bare skin of his face and numbing his feet.

Outside amber eyes blinked miserably up at him. Peter was drenched, black fur clinging to his form and running off the end of his noes. Roman leaned against the door jam and smirked at him. Peter stalked past him and waited, dripping, for Roman to follow him. As soon as Roman turned around and closed the door Peter looked him dead in the eye and started shaking, dousing Roman in waves of water. Roman swore violently and snatched a cloth off of the counter and pitched it at Peter, catching him squarely in the face. Peter spluttered and Roman laughed, a breathless, wordless burst of sound.

Part of him, perhaps the whole of him, had been worried about Peter. Roman grabbed the towel off Peter’s face and swatted him with it, just to make a point, before flopping back down on the couch he had very recently vacated. Peter jumped up next to him, landing heavily on Romans legs and crawling up to settle on his chest. He was a heavy damp weight and Roman wasn’t sure what to do with this unmistakable sign of affection.

Peter kept watching him with his bright eyes until Roman reached up and started running his fingers through Peters thick fur. It was still wet so it took a bit of tugging to get out some of the snags. Peter closed his eyes and made a soft little pleased sound in the back of his throat. They lay like that for a while, the water warming up where it sat between them. on the roof the rain tapped out a fresh tempo, like waves. Peter’s breath slowed down, his heartbeat knocking against Roman’s breastbone like it wanted to get in. Roman wanted to tell it that it already was.    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, a million apologies for such a late update! Thank you all for your kudos and patronage!


	4. Hungry Hungry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a solid year, I'm so sorry, I've had this in my drafts FOREVER but am only now posting. Thank you for all the kudos and views! Next chapter will be the last and will get steeeeamy ;) 
> 
> -also posting this at 3am so edits tomorrow

 

The only unfortunate part about falling asleep with a wolf on your chest, well this particular wolf, was that eventually the wolf stopped being a wolf and started being peter again. There were other unfortunate side effects like the clinging wet dog smell, the nasty crick in the neck and the unfortunate amounts of gore and grizzle that came from the change back. Despite all this roman slept like the dead, _ha,_ not even waking up when the wolf stopped being a wolf. It wasn’t until sharp fingers of dawn started piercing between the blinds that roman stirred. He groaned and would have rolled over exept that there was something heavy on his chest preventing it. That was probably for the best as roman had forgotten that he was on the couch and had he managed to roll over would have ended up sprawled on the floor or with his head bashed on the coffee table. Peter was still soundly asleep, but he was disturbed by the movement. In his sleep peter had practically wrapped himself around roman, arms and legs tangled. Roman lay pinned under peter for all of four seconds before he shoved peter off and spilled gracelessly onto the floor, luckily avoiding the coffee table. Peter woke up loudly, with a shout choking out of his throat.

“what the _fuck_ man?” peter yowled when he had recovered enough to form words.

“you were fucking sleeping on me. I smell like fucking wet dog, what the fucking _hell_ man!” Roman yowled back. They glared at each other for a whole five seconds before peter cracked up.

“Roman, Roman you have something on your face. Like _everywhere_.” He said between breathy gasps. Roman froze. The smell smacked into him all at once. Rich and thick, like wet pipes and road kill and mud. He realized that the smell was coating his tongue, the back of his throat. Roman’s stomach gurgled warningly and he lurched to his feet, grabbed a dishcloth off the counter and started scrubbing at his arms and face. Between passes of the cloth he said,

“Why did you have to change back _on top of me_? These pants are worth more then your shitty ass trailer.” Peter just laughed and peeled himself off the floor to find some clothing. Roman heard the shower shudder on a few minutes later, but he didn’t stop scrubbing until his arms were flushed red and raw. Roman wandered to the fridge and pulled out the rest of the sausage, eggs, toast, and the raw meat he had bought yesterday. Roman tried not to look too long at the meat. He felt distinctly off, like when the pressure changes and your ears are _just_ about to pop but they aren’t all the way there yet and your stuck chewing on air. The eggs were done by the time peter came out, wearing only his loose sleep pants and wet hair. Lots of hair. Roman shoveled breakfast onto a plate for him and handed peter the packaged meat, not trusting himself to unwrap it. When he finished the sausage he brought that and the bottle of O-J over to the table and shoved them at peter. His only response was to raise an eyebrow and keep on eating. About half way through the eggs Peter stopped and put his fork down.

“Roman can I ask yo-“ roman cut him off.

“No.”

“Roman.”

“No Peter, I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t be a fucking girl I'm fine.” Roman got up and pulled the (now empty) egg plate out from under Peter’s hands.

“You don’t have to do that, this is my house.” Peter said, moving like he was going to get up. Roman grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back down.

“Eat your fucking sausage.” Roman snapped. Peter snorted and waved a fork-mounted sausage at him.

Roman went after the pan and the plates with a vengeance; turning up the tap until the water was so hot he could barely stand it. The soap burned his hands, searing his already raw skin. He was so wrapped up in the violent murder of peter’s dishware that Roman didn’t notice Peter until he was sliding around him to drop the last plate into the soapy water. When he saw the steam coming off the water he cranked the hot nob down a few turns but didn’t say anything. He didn’t move away either. He seemed to be debating something, hooking his thumbs in and out of his sleep pants pockets. Without warning peter grabbed romans arm and hauled him down so that he could press his nose into the elegant crook where romans neck met his shoulder. Roman was too shocked to pull away. Peters nose was cold and for a weird, surreal moment, roman wondered if the wolf had clawed its way up and out of his mouth to rip his throat into neat halves. Roman didn’t snap out of it until he felt the warm swipe of tongue. He pulled back as far as peters death grip on his arm would let him. Peter’s eyes were alarmingly dark, the pupils so wide you could barely see the iris.

“What,” roman said; “the fucking hell was that.” Peter pulled back and his pupils jittering back into their normal size.

“Fucking beats me, must be the moon or some shit.” Peter said. It wasn’t even a half convincing lie, but roman was reminded quite suddenly and crushingly of how hungry he was, _hungry_ to the point of madness. It was a sort of pull behind his gums, the empty gaping of his mouth. Peter looked just as hungry, his eyes flicking over roman like he may be something to be eaten. To be eaten, to be devoured, a starving man showed food. Peter stepped impossibly closer and smiled up at roman, all teeth. Hungry, _hungry_ , it ticked under roman’s skin. Peter leaned forward and ate.


	5. Sated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back after 87 years. I feel awful about leaving ya'll hanging, the last season of hemlock grove was so off-putting I couldn't stand to think about the show. But since its like???? one of the most popular fics in the fandom (which, wtf thank you guys so much) it is my solemn duty to deliver you some dirty fucking.

The kiss was sloppy and mostly teeth, peter was too short to kiss roman properly and roman was too surprised to lean down to meet him. The second kiss was better, and the third, somewhere around the fourth one of roman’s arms slid around peter’s waist while the other inched up to cup his neck. The kisses turned sharp, more feral, roman sank his teeth into peter’s lip and pulled. Peter snarled and dug his hands into roman’s hips shoving him back and chasing after him until they both fetched up against the kitchen counter. Peter snarled and Roman laughed.

“Down Fido.” He said, reaching around to pull Peter closer in between his legs.

“Oh ya the wolf jokes, always so fun. Why don’t you get to sucking something more useful twilight?” Peter reached down to undo his own fly.

“you really want my teeth anywhere near your junk? I might get over enthusiastic. Plus, your more” Roman gestured expansively to Peter “conveniently located. At dick height.”

Peter flipped him off and used his free hand to shove his pants down far enough to pull out his dick. Casually, without breaking eye contact, he began to stroke himself.

“Anyone ever tell you that you get impossibly more stupid when you’re hard? I have it on good authority from a multitude of sources that you give great head and have yet to bite off anyone’s dick. Congrats for that.” Peter smiled, and licked his lips.

 “Been asking about me have you?” Roman said, unconsciously mirroring him, and leaning down. The hunger was back, lower, pooling between his hips.

“About your dick biting? Sure. A man gets curious.” Peter said, rolling his hips so that his knuckles brushed against Roman’s still infuriatingly clothed dick. Roman groaned and leaned forward until his forehead knocked against Peter’s.

“there’s a first time for everything.” He said. Peter laughed.

“I’ll risk it.” Roman thought about fighting, he really did, but honestly the thought of having Peter’s dick in his mouth was too good to pass up. Peter, sensing his surrender, quickly pushed them around so that it was his back to the counter and Roman was standing in front of him. With his free hand Peter threaded his fingers through Roman’s hair and wrenched him down until they were eye to eye.

“if you bite off my dick” Peter said, unblinkingly, to Roman’s face “Destiny will bite off yours.”

Roman didn’t have time to laugh before Peter was shoving his head down further. Roman went willingly, his knees folding until they hit the cracked linoleum floor. Peter smelled warm and musty, like a wild animal or the forest when it hadn’t rained in a while. Roman pressed his face close and inhaled. Above him Peter swore and told him to hurry _the fuck_ up. Roman grumbled and turned his face to the side so that each of his breaths ghosted along Peter’s exposed dick making him swear even more. Roman stuck out his tongue and gave one long lick, pausing at the tip to consider the flavor. He grinned up at Peter and leaned in, taking his whole length into his mouth. Peter hadn’t been wrong, about one thing at least, there were plenty of people out there who could give glowing reviews to Roman’s skill. Roman didn’t know, or at least had never heard, how good Peter was at fucking. He was a fucking sledgehammer, bucking up into Roman’s jaw and he goddamn loved it. Roman let his teeth scrape along the underside of Peter’s dick as he pulled back, planning to stroke him over the edge, but the teeth did it for Peter and he came. Roman gagged, lurching back, and managing to splatter come across his neck and chest. His lips felt tacky already.

“goddamn man what the fuck man do you _want_ your dick bitten off. Shit.” Roman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Against the counter Peter was shaking with laughter. Roman got off his knees and grabbed him by the collar, dragging Peter up until he didn’t have to stoop to reach his mouth. Peter lazily wound his arms around Roman’s neck, shoving his knee between Roman’s thighs so that he could grind against it. Roman came in minutes, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Peter’s shoulder.

Hours later they sprawled together on the trailer floor, naked, with Roman scrawling patterns into Peter’s skin with the slowly congealing blood. Peter was petting his hair, every now and then pausing to drag his fingers through Roman’s masterpiece and offer them to Roman to suck clean. They were both exhausted, but they were warm and safe and they knew that as long as they were together, so it would remain.         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there ya'll go, your dirty blood fucking. Thanks for sticking around and guilt tripping me every few months into finishing this.


End file.
